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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930559">pierre (ryn weaver)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinelighter/pseuds/tangerinelighter'>tangerinelighter</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>not your mother's songfics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Casual Sex, Friends to Lovers, Influencer Hanamaki Takahiro, M/M, Making Out, Sad Hanamaki Takahiro, Tokyo Olympics 2021, Touch-Starved, Unrequited Crush, bass player matsukawa issei, getting together after a long time, hook-ups, pierre by ryn weaver, stress af, there is no foot fetish here</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 22:14:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,834</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29930559</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerinelighter/pseuds/tangerinelighter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Something clicked behind him and he looked back to see Mattsun lighting a cigarette. “Ready?”</p><p>“Yeah.” Then he saw the vehicle Mattsun was leaning against.</p><p>“Nice pickup,” Makki said, and it was, something old-fashioned and well maintained-Toyota? Maybe from the eighties?</p><p>“Oh,” Mattsun said, and chuckled. Makki knew that chuckle; it usually preceded a ‘that’s what she said’ joke or some ribbing and roasting of one of the other three of them. “That’s my hearse.”</p><p>-or-<br/>Mattsun's emotionally mature, Makki's good at being immature, and they both have a terrible sense of humour.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro/Oikawa Tooru (one-sided), Implied Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>not your mother's songfics [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2037031</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. a lover who could play the bass</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A few notes: Mattsun’s still a funeral home employee, but he’s currently living and working in north Tokyo. Hanamaki lives on the other side of Tokyo. Hanamaki’s place is pretty close to the Olympic village, also he doesn't have his own car because he's the curb stomping can't drive gay of the group</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You don’t have an Argentinian wife,” Iwaizumi said.</p><p> </p><p>Hanamaki and Matsukawa started giggling as Oikawa’s shit eating grin grew wider. Iwaizumi glared at the two of them before looking back at Oikawa. “I’m going to corner your teammates and make them tell me. There’s no way you did a green card marriage.”</p><p> </p><p>“The paperwork was just taking so long, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa yawned. “Besides, all my teammates speak Spanish, not Japanese. Good luck.”</p><p> </p><p>“I speak Spanish too, dipshit. And English. And I know your teammates can speak English.”</p><p> </p><p>“My teammates know better than to interact with the enemy’s athletic trainer,” Oikawa said, sticking out his tongue. “You’ll get nothing out of them.”</p><p> </p><p>“Better a green card marriage than a tramp stamp,” Makki pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“Five hundred yen says he also has a tattoo,” Mattsun bet.</p><p> </p><p>“No way. If there’s anyone with a tattoo, it’s Iwaizumi.” Makki peered at him from across the table. “And it’s on his ribs.”</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t have a rib piece,” Iwaizumi growled.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun lifted an eyebrow. “But you do have a piece? Back? Thigh? Titty?”</p><p> </p><p>“What am I, a piece of chicken?”</p><p> </p><p>“Anyways, back to me,” Oikawa crowed. “Is it gauche to post pictures of my two passports?”</p><p> </p><p>“Definitely,” Makki said at the same time that Mattsun said “Absolutely.”</p><p> </p><p>“Everything you do is tasteless,” Iwaizumi told him through a mouthful of tonkatsu.</p><p> </p><p>“Rude, Iwa-chan. Not that I could expect anything better from you.”</p><p> </p><p>Hanamaki lifted his bowl to finish off the dregs of the ramen and stared out over the restaurant. It was the same chain they had in Miyagi where they’d go after games, but this location, close to the Olympic Village in Tokyo, was much larger, even if their food wasn’t quite as good in favor of being easier to send out of the kitchen. It was dimly lit, and Oikawa had insisted they get a booth in the corner so he could sit with his back to the rest of the restaurant to preserve his anonymity. He’d promptly been roasted mercilessly for it, since, in the words of Mattsun and Iwaizumi combined, “no one was going to recognize the least impressive Latino on the Argentinian team.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>not </em>Latino,” Oikawa had said, completely missing the point, but Hanamaki had thought that maybe he was right to hide his face, even if conceited. Oikawa had always drawn attention to himself naturally, and now he was built like an Olympian and tanned and dressed unlike the average Japanese man.</p><p> </p><p>“Earth to Makki,” Mattsun muttered, smacking him upside the head. It was a good thing he’d put down his bowl. “Oikawa just asked you how work’s going.”</p><p> </p><p>“Uh. Fantastic. It’s not going, and that’s great.”</p><p> </p><p>“So you’re unemployed,” Iwaizumi said with a lifted eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>“Am I ‘employed by a company,’” Makki asked with finger air quotes. “No. Am I regularly getting paid for being incredibly hot and beautiful? Yes.”</p><p> </p><p>“Do you wanna see his influencer page?” Mattsun asked, pulling out his phone. Hanamaki immediately lunged for it and snatched it away; Mattsun’s reflexes had always been slower than his.</p><p> </p><p>“No they do not, and I wish you’d never found it either. I like to keep my professional and private life separate,” he said with his nose in the air.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re a social media influencer? And you actually make a living off of it?” Oikawa’s eyes glittered, but Makki had long since learned it stemmed from fascination and curiosity rather than interest. Iwaizumi did nothing to curb him and stared at him openly as well. Stupid Mattsun.</p><p> </p><p>“My bills are paid despite me not having a nine-to-five,” Makki said. Iwaizumi leaned closer and squinted.</p><p>“Did you get a nose job?”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, fuck you.” Makki slapped him with Mattsun’s phone, which Iwaizumi grabbed and pried away from him with his superior strength. He tapped it a few times.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s his username, Mattsun?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know his password?”</p><p> </p><p>“Ichigo dot hanahiro,” Mattsun said, the traitor.</p><p> </p><p>“He hasn’t changed it since high school. How come Mattsun knows about your double life but not us?” Iwaizumi shifted so that Oikawa could lean over his shoulder and look at the screen, and Hanamaki pouted at their eyes crinkling the way they did when one smiled.</p><p> </p><p>“Mattsun just has a habit of browsing the instagrams of pretty boys,” Makki grumbled. Mattsun shrugged good-naturedly as if to say ‘yep, sounds about right.’</p><p> </p><p>“You only have fourteen thousand followers,” Oikawa said, followed by Iwaizumi’s scoff, “There’s no way that’s paying for all the clothes that are in these pictures. That’s a Lirika Matoshi shirt.”</p><p>“Unless it’s a knockoff,” Mattsun pointed out.</p><p>“First of all, it’s not a knockoff, second, I was doing modeling work for a bit and that’s how I got the clothes. Third, fuck you, fourteen thousand followers is a respectable amount for someone who’s as shitty at hashtags as I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, okay,” Iwaizumi mumbled, giving Mattsun’s phone back despite Oikawa’s pout, and waving to a server for the check. “I think we can all agree that Hanamaki is living a sustainable life that isn’t any weirder than a professional athlete or a mortician.”</p><p> </p><p>“Was this supposed to be an intervention?” Makki wondered to no one in particular.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re saving the intervention for when Mattsun gets caught in a compromising position with a corpse,” Oikawa said semi-seriously.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun blinked. “Hey now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really guys? Right in front of the server?” Iwaizumi handed her the checkbook with his card. “I’m so sorry.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, sir,” she said, and then made a beeline to escape.</p><p> </p><p>“Okayyyyy, are we ready to go?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, asshat,” Iwaizumi growled at Oikawa, who was stretching as if to get up, “she still has my card.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m tired and I have to be up early tomorrow,” he pouted. “Hurry up, Iwa-chan.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“</p><p> </p><p>“And you promised me a ride back to the village. So I’m dependent on you--Iwa-chan don’t hit me I’m a very expensive athlete!”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun elbowed him in the side. “I’m pretty sure Iwaizumi’s getting stress lines just from resisting hitting him. Pretty admirable of him.”</p><p> </p><p>“He’s saving it all for after Oikawa’s final match.” Makki kicked him in revenge. “You owe me for exposing my Instagram.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll give you a ride so you don’t have to take the metro.” Mattsun glanced down at him with familiar sleepy eyes, and Makki was sucker punched with a combination of nostalgia and déjà vu from the look, the restaurant, and Iwaizumi and Oikawa bickering across from them.</p><p> </p><p>“All the way over to Harajuku?”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun made a face. “Do you want to go home right away?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki paused at that, and then eyed Oikawa and Iwaizumi talking between themselves. When he turned back, Mattsun was watching him closely. “No. I’m not really tired.”</p><p> </p><p>“Good. There’s something nearby I’m dragging you to then.”</p><p> </p><p>The server returned with Iwaizumi’s receipt, who signed and tipped, mature as always. “Okay, <em>now </em>we can go, Shittykawa.”</p><p> </p><p>“Does your wife know you let other men take you home?” Mattsun cracked. Oikawa grinned despite Iwaizumi bodily pushing him out of the booth, none of them noticing Hanamaki frowning slightly.</p><p>“See you two tomorrow? This one’s probably going to be on a short leash, but my team doesn’t need me constantly,” Iwaizumi said to him and Mattsun.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll see you,” Mattsun promised, answering for both of them. “Unless you have to physically restrain Ushiwaka from begging Oikawa to join the Japan team?”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Iwaizumi facepalmed while Oikawa visibly shuddered. “I wouldn’t bet against that happening.”</p><p> </p><p>“Just get a video if it does,” Hanamaki said, and they were outside.</p><p> </p><p>“See you then,” he grinned, and shoulders brushing, the two of them were off. Hanamaki stared after them, disappearing like they would after every practice, something he hadn’t seen in almost a decade.</p><p> </p><p>Something clicked behind him and he looked back to see Mattsun lighting a cigarette. “Ready?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.” Then he saw the vehicle Mattsun was leaning against.</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Nice pickup,” Makki said, and it was, something old-fashioned and well maintained-Toyota? Maybe from the eighties?</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Mattsun said, and chuckled. Makki knew that chuckle; it usually preceded a ‘that’s what she said’ joke or some ribbing and roasting of one of the other three of them. “That’s my hearse.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re joking.” Makki gaped. “You’re actually fucking with me. Don’t tell me you bring dead people to the funeral in a fucking pickup.”</p><p> </p><p>“We stick a temple on the back of it—well, not this one. She’s been retired. But she used to have a temple over the bed. All the other ones do.”</p><p> </p><p>He took a drag from the cigarette and watched Makki pick his jaw up off the floor. The smell of smoke tickled at his perfect and <em>natural </em>nose but he couldn’t help but appreciate the scene, the look of his old best friend. Mattsun crossed his arms. “Problem?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you weirdo. Where are we even going?”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s none of your business. You done being a little sad boy?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki rolled his eyes and stepped close enough to grab the cigarette out of Mattsun’s mouth, step on it and grind it below his heel. He just let him, watching with a slight grin. “Yeah, I’m ready.”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, c’mon”, Mattsun urged, and Makki found himself bundled into the cab of the pickup—the goddamn hearse, he reminded himself—with Mattsun pushing in after him until he was lodged in the driver’s seat. “Here’s the keys.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why aren’t you driving?” He started the car.</p><p> </p><p>“You’ll see,” Mattsun said with that stupid grin and those sleepy eyes. He always had stupidly big eyes, almost awkward in his long, angular face, but it had the benefit of him never looking overeager, always looking cool and calm. Unriled. Every so often Makki took a silent pride in the fact that it was <em>him </em>that made Mattsun crack up. “Go straight through this intersection, then up that road to the top off the hill.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re taking me to a romantic spot out of town so that you can murder me and hide the body.”</p><p> </p><p>“In my hearse, yes.” Mattsun leaned back. “I am in an excellent position to deal with dead bodies after all.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re probably a vampire.” Makki reached over and groped his hand. “I thought so. Ice cold.”</p><p> </p><p>“Very pale. Incredibly handsome. Impossibly fast and strong.”</p><p> </p><p>“Gay. Sparkly. Huge eyebags.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun’s hand flew up to his face. “I thought those got better!”</p><p> </p><p>“Vain,” Makki continued in the same voice.</p><p> </p><p>“Fucker,” Mattsun said as they reached the top of the hill. “Okay.”</p><p> </p><p>“Okay, we’re here. Now what, oh sexy vampire?”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not gonna forget that you called me sexy,” Mattsun said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Now we drive back down the other side of the hill.”</p><p> </p><p>“I-“ Makki cut himself off as they came over the crest and he saw the lights of Kawasaki stretched out below them. “Oh. Okay.” He let the truck drift down, starting to pick up speed on its own accord.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun leaned his whole upper half—and that was a lot of body—out of the passenger side window and started whooping, screaming into the wind rushing past them. He was vibrant, fucking iridescent with life and the mist spinning up from the tires and laughter bubbled up out of Makki at the sight. He thrust his arm out of his window to catch the air, cupping at nothing and shivering as it fluttered through his fingers. Lights streamed by. He caught sight of Mattsun again, flashing, illuminated by the streetlights running past, still screaming. He screamed in return, and then started screaming for real when he realized the light they were twenty feet away from was red.</p><p>“Get IN,” he hollered, stepping on the brakes as gently but as firmly as he could.</p><p> </p><p>“Holy fuck!” Mattsun’s long arms pulled him back inside. “What a way to die!”</p><p> </p><p>Makki gasped. “Hanging out of a hearse, getting beheaded by the doorframe at a red light?”</p><p> </p><p>“Exactly!”</p><p> </p><p>His breath returned, Makki looked at Mattsun, crazed smile overtaking his face. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”</p><p> </p><p>“I always assumed you’d be the one to kill me,” Mattsun told him, matching smile. Makki felt stupid young again. Was it just seeing Mattsun again after all this time? Or was it just how it was with him? Having a best friend.</p><p> </p><p>An angry honk answered. “Oops,” Mattsun laughed, pointing at the light that had turned green.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry!” Makki hollered, and took his foot off the brake. “Didn’t think anyone else would be driving around here this time of night,” he added in a normal tone.</p><p> </p><p>“Me neither,” said Mattsun. “Take a right here, it goes back to my place.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh honey, I shouldn’t.” Makki dripped sweetness.</p><p> </p><p>“Slut,” Mattsun answered, and they both cracked up again. It was probably just being with Mattsun, Makki thought.</p><p> </p><p>“Into here,” he said, pointing at an apartment complex. Makki followed suit, pulling smoothly into a parking spot—fuck you, he knew how to drive.</p><p> </p><p>“Sweet.” Mattsun held out his hand for the keys, which Makki hi-fived into him. “Up up and away, bitch.”</p><p> </p><p>“Carry me,” Makki asked, trotting at his heels. “For I have had too much to drink.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t have the neighbors seeing that. There’s an elevator anyways.” Mattsun really was too tall for his own good—he always walked far faster than Makki could handle comfortably. He was already waiting at the elevator, button pushed, before Makki caught up to him.</p><p> </p><p>“Why are you so rude?”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re my charity case,” Mattsun said. Makki punched him in the ribs and then elbowed him out of the way to get into the elevator first, thinking it was a good idea until he saw the elderly lady waiting to get out.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m so very sorry,” Makki told her, face as pink as his hair. He and Mattsun bowed, making space for her to walk past them, unimpressed, and the two of them backed into the elevator quietly. They managed to hold in their snickers till the numbers changed to the second floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Dude,” Mattsun gasped, muffled by his hand. “You’ve ruined my reputation.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t comb your hair,” Makki told him. “Your reputation was never good.”</p><p> </p><p>“I have a sexy undercut and your hair is <em>pink</em>, you can’t talk.”</p><p> </p><p>“I can and will talk, so unless you want me to piss off more neighbors, you better be nice to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Instead of being nice to him, Mattsun put him in a headlock while he fished his keys out to open his door, muffling Makki’s struggles and grunts of displeasure in his shirt.</p><p> </p><p>“Fucker,” he told him. Mattsun ignored him, kicked off his shoes, and wandered over to his couch. “Want a drink?”</p><p> </p><p>“Absolutely,” Makki said, slightly missing his own apartment where he had a fully stocked bar cart when Mattsun said “Beer or sake?” He would show him true living next time.</p><p> </p><p>“Sake,” he said instead of making fun of him. There would be time to gloat later. He unlaced his own sneakers and put them down where they wouldn’t get dirty. They were white after all, unlike <em>all </em>of Mattsun’s shoes.</p><p> </p><p>While Mattsun warmed up sake on the stove, he wandered around the living room, snooping over the details of his old friend’s current life. There weren’t any pictures up, but he found a few artifacts from Seijoh days here and there—his high school diploma framed next to his university one, the same mug he’d had since high school was sitting on the TV stand, a familiar blanket that Mattsun had always huddled in after their post-game warm downs and that had come along on many training camps and bus rides. He eyed the bookshelf, noting that most of the subjects had to do with death and mortician shit while the knickknacks were all in the realm of onyx skulls, platinum stationary, and modern candles.</p><p> </p><p>“A bit on the nose,” he mumbled, finding the record collection and pulling out a few to look at the titles. He cast an eye around for a record player, but found a bass instead, sitting unassuming on a stand in the corner, an amp tucked behind it. “You fucker.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mattsun,” he called, and turned to find him walking from the kitchen, two cups in hand. A record still in one hand, he accepted the sake with the other and took a careful sip. “This is actually good.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why do you sound surprised?” Mattsun had such a lazy glare. “And what did you want?”</p><p> </p><p>“You play bass?” Mattsun leaned into his space, reaching past with his stupidly long arms to pluck a different record from the shelf. “I’ve never seen you play an instrument.”</p><p> </p><p>“You haven’t seen me in three years,” he pointed out, eyes slanted down to look at him. He finally backed away, headed towards the record player Makki had been searching for, and slid the record out of its sleeve. “I learned in university, but I only got that a few years back. Haven’t had a neighbor complain yet, luckily.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki took another sip of the sake. His throat may have been a touch dry. “Wanna play it now?”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun threw a grin over his shoulder. “Anything for you, darling.” The record settled into place and he put down the needle, Smooth Jazz™ filling the room. “Sit, sit.” He ushered Makki to the couch. Maybe he had learned manners in the past few years after all.</p><p> </p><p>Makki decided to keep drinking sake and watch Mattsun lope over to his bass and pick it up, all smooth movements and long limbs and messy hair. He had realized long ago he always had sex on the brain, and right now was no different, stupid thoughts popping up in his head like <em>are we about to kiss right now</em> and <em>mmmm shirt off time</em> and it didn’t help to see those fingers wrapped around the neck of the instrument.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun oblivious just sprawled out on the armchair and rested the bass on his lap, quietly picking his way along the strings.</p><p> </p><p>“I can’t hear it,” Makki complained.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not plugged in,” Mattsun returned, jutting his chin out to the amp. “It’s also one in the morning.”</p><p> </p><p>“And yet you’re playing records,” Makki said. “Also, why was that old woman up so late?”</p><p> </p><p>“You know,” Mattsun said, still strumming silently, “I’ve seen her out late a lot. Like, a lot. And only in the evenings.”</p><p> </p><p>“So, an actual vampire?” He reached back to find the cord to the amp, and passed it over to Mattsun. Their fingers brushed and poor little horny Makki warmed up.</p><p> </p><p>“I think,” Mattsun decided, plugging in his bass, “that maybe she’s just hooking up with one of the residents here. And then she goes home.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s spicy as fuck. Ask her next time.”</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Mattsun chuckled. The smooth sound of the bass thrummed through the apartment, barely louder than the record player. He was on key, Makki noticed. It must be how he practiced, putting on a record and playing along to the music, matching pitch and improvising. He tipped back his head to finish the sake.</p><p> </p><p>“There’s more in the kitchen,” Mattsun said.</p><p> </p><p>“Trying to get me drunk?”</p><p> </p><p>He grinned and stopped playing long enough to finish off his own cup. “Now we’re even.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki rolled his eyes, but stood and gathered both cups, bringing them to the stove. There, out of sight of Mattsun and in brighter light, he poured the rest of the warmed sake into them and then stood with his forehead pressed to the door of the fridge, trying to regain a sense of normalcy. This was stupid. This felt like he’d fallen back a decade, this whole night, seeing Oikawa under sparkling lights when he was fully prepared to lose him forever, seeing the four of them together again, seeing Mattsun match him word for word like they hadn’t lost three years between them. He was almost nervous, and realizing that, he looked down to see his pale hands trembling slightly, and took another deep breath, forehead cool, trying to work on those anti-anxiety techniques he’d taught himself in the past.</p><p> </p><p>The bass from the other room stopped, so Makki straightened up and grabbed the cups, whisking them back before Mattsun got concerned.</p><p> </p><p>“Lost already?” He picked back up where he’d been playing, melding into the scale the soft trumpet had been playing.</p><p> </p><p>“How often do you play along to this?” Makki asked, ignoring him.</p><p> </p><p>“Often enough,” he said, and fell silent again. Makki sat, melting into the cushions, and nursed the sake, watching him. Stupid alcohol, sending a buzz from his lips to his chest to the bottom of his stomach. Mattsun wasn’t even looking down at his guitar, eyes lidded and staring into nothing, Hanamaki’s eyes lidded and staring at Mattsun. His fingers moving steady and sure. Makki kind of wanted those fingers in his mouth. He finished the sake, and then the song finished. A brief pause, and another one picked up softly, but Mattsun didn’t keep playing, his hands resting still on the shiny black of the bass, still staring into empty space. Makki felt trapped between the quiet pressing him bodily to the couch and the nervous energy moving in him, forcing his fingers to tap soundlessly on his cup.</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” Mattsun hummed, breaking the silence. He stood, carried the bass back to the stand in the corner, and when he returned he slid down onto the couch next to Makki.</p><p> </p><p>“So you finally deign to sit next to me,” Makki grinned.</p><p> </p><p>“Only because you’re a lonely little whore,” he said, eyes heavy and unreadable as usual.</p><p> </p><p>“Touch-starved too,” Makki prompted.</p><p> </p><p>“Gotta fix that.” Mattsun grabbed his ankles and pulled them up until Makki’s legs were resting on his lap; Makki hastily put his cup down on the table and reminded, Mattsun picked up his own, untouched, and took a gulp before putting it back. “God knows social media influencers like you only know a shallow companionship and never the touch of a real human.”</p><p> </p><p>“So true. I only allow fake humans to touch me.” Makki resolutely ignored Mattsun’s fingers massaging the weak points of his ankles.</p><p> </p><p>“What does that make me?”</p><p> </p><p>“A vampire, weren’t you paying attention?” He flashed his most charming grin. It was a little hard. Mattsun knew what he was doing, and it felt heavenly. It was also unfortunately going straight to his dick. Mattsun for some reason decided to keep going, thumbs alternating between pointed presses and gentle rubs. His hands were so large they easily encircled the fine bones of his ankles; he’d always been bigger than him, barely taller, but broader in every way. The bolded version. He slipped a hand up to Makki’s knee and pushed on the inside of the kneecap, right where it hurts some days. He didn’t bother to wonder how Mattsun knew to focus there, it was a common sore spot for anyone who worked too heavy on their knees.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun just bared his teeth at him. Makki swallowed hard. What an asshole. He was really doing this on purpose.</p><p> </p><p>“Bro, you’re so good at seducing me.” He hadn’t mean for his voice to come out that husky. “Bro, this isn’t five feet apart.”</p><p> </p><p>“Bro,” Mattsun said back, “It’s not gay. We both have our socks on.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki licked his lips. “What if I want it to be gay, bro?”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun didn’t reply, and somehow Makki’s brain was still working fast enough to catch on to him looking at Makki’s mouth, that heavy expression bordering translucent for once. He decided that it was enough, that twenty-six was too old to wait for shit, and he pulled his legs out of Mattsun’s grasp so that he could lean forward and plant his knees on either side of broad thighs. It wasn’t until he was sitting on Mattsun’s lap, legs spread, that he felt the wave of dizziness from the sake hit him and he swayed, leaning closer to Mattsun’s face, and his hands came up to steady himself.</p><p> </p><p>“Aren’t you bold,” Mattsun murmured.</p><p> </p><p>“Got a problem?” He asked in return.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” Mattsun said, eyes dropping to his lips again, and Makki felt warm hands cover his waist, and then Mattsun was leaning forward and kissing him.</p><p> </p><p>He opened his mouth instinctively—he really was a slut, wasn’t he?—and the touch of Mattsun’s tongue shot arousal straight through him making him grind closer. The hands on his hips helped him, pulling him into Mattsun’s body while he licked into his mouth, tracing Makki’s own tongue. It only took a hand slipping under the hem of his shirt to make him moan.</p><p> </p><p>“Are you usually this easy?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki yanked on Mattsun’s curls in revenge for that, not expecting the low groan that came from him. His head slowly came back up, and this time his eyes were open, glinting and focused, more than the ghost of a grin on his lips. Makki only remembered seeing this expression in the midst of a good rally of jokes.</p><p> </p><p>“Watch it,” he rumbled. Makki scrunched up his eyebrows.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you really think that’s gonna stop me?” He tugged on his hair again, and then his vision blurred hard when Mattsun grabbed his ass and picked him up, standing himself as if it was easy to carry a full grown six foot man—what kind of workout routine did a mortician need? He yelped when Mattsun bounced him once to get a better hold on him and carried him around the corner, finally throwing him onto his bed.</p><p> </p><p>He could barely make out the contours of the room and the shadows of Mattsun’s face, but he swore he could see the slight line of his eyelashes when Mattsun pressed close to kiss him again, braced over him with strong arms. It was Makki’s turn to sneak hands under his shirt, feeling eager when he ran his fingers over smooth skin and hard muscles, getting grabby and hooking his legs around Mattsun’s.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun broke off and yanked on his jeans, unbuttoning them for him and tugging them off with unreal swiftness, and Makki badly wanted to make a wisecrack about it being obviously practiced, but the words died on his lips when Mattsun leaned back and stripped his shirt just as quickly. He swallowed, and realizing how goddamn hard he had gotten so quickly, peeled off his own shirt just to keep himself from looking like an idiot. Mattsun didn’t comment, didn’t even say a thing, but he was back on Makki in one smooth movement and kissing him right below his ear and Makki could feel himself trembling. A large hand fumbled between them, and before he could do anything else for himself Mattsun had both of them together in his hand and was grinding on top of him.</p><p>Makki came embarrassingly quickly from that, from Mattsun’s teeth on his neck, but the worst was the helpless whisper of ‘<em>Issei’ </em>and the flash of arousal that caught up to him when Mattsun spilled on his belly. Panting, he collapsed on Makki and Makki allowed it, too overwhelmed himself to mind.</p><p> </p><p>“I may have given you a hickey,” Mattsun mumbled after a few minutes, “but you can’t use that as proof that I’m a vampire. It’s a very normal human thing to do.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki chuckled, helpless despite the weight on his diaphragm. “Sounds like something a vampire would say.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t even make you bleed.”</p><p> </p><p>“I was actually more preoccupied with the fact that we both still have our socks on,” Makki said.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, good,” Mattsun rumbled in his ear. “I guess I don’t need to say ‘no homo’.” He finally got up, shape illuminated from the kitchen light. “I’ll get you a towel, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks bro,” Makki rasped. His bones felt incredibly heavy on the mattress, skin still buzzing and warm despite his state of undress, and he watched Mattsun wander into the en suite, jeans low on his hips below a long, shapely back and broad shoulders. He looked damn good, even in this low light.</p><p> </p><p>The sound of running water warred with the nervous thoughts in the perimeter of his mind, and by the time Mattsun came back in with a wet towel to clean them up, he’d fallen asleep on top of the covers.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Makki jolted awake, horribly confused and disoriented in the pitch black room, before catching sight of the glowing clock telling him it was five am. Behind him he felt Matsukawa’s warm back pressed to his own bare skin, breathing deeply.  </p><p>He slid out from under the sheets and grabbed his jeans and shirt from the chair in the corner of the room, and dressed quietly in the kitchen. Grabbed his phone from the living room table where he left it the night before. He opened Matsukawa’s contact and turned off notification alerts.</p><p>He put on his shoes and gently closed the apartment door behind him.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. and you've been pining how long?? yeah that's not exactly a bromance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Do you want an ice-pack?”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi must have noticed Hanamaki holding the cold back of his hand to his cheek, where it was still red and sore from catching one of Oikawa’s serves in the face. It wasn’t terrible, but it put a bit of a damper on their post-practice Friday night sleepovers where Makki was used to stuffing his face—he wasn’t sure his jaw was closing correctly right then. Iwaizumi’s care-taker senses must have been tingling. He caught Oikawa’s eyes, tilted up in guilt.</p><p> </p><p>“That sounds great, actually,” he said. “I think it’s all good, just a bit swollen.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi tossed him an ice-pack from the clubroom freezer—the douche certainly hadn’t been as tired out by the day’s diving drills as Hanamaki had. He barely caught it, and Oikawa nabbed it from his hands, fretting over him and holding it to his face for him. He’d already apologized extensively the moment after he was hit and thereafter throughout practice.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Makki didn’t spare much expense protesting, but he caught sight of Oikawa’s doe-eyes that said the guy would feel even worse if he couldn’t do anything for him. He pretended to bite at Oikawa’s fingers instead, and let him take his gym bag as they walked home.</p><p> </p><p>“Snacks,” Iwaizumi announced, as they were halfway there and passing by the convenience store. Makki flopped down on the bench outside.</p><p> </p><p>“Leave your bags with me,” he sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“Want me to get you something?” Iwaizumi asked, ever helpful and ever hungry.</p><p> </p><p>“Nah,” Makki sighed again. “I don’t feel like chewing, and I spent too much on the new Pokémon game last weekend anyways.”</p><p> </p><p>“Alright,” he shrugged, and dropped his bag at Makki’s feet. The other two followed suit, Mattsun muttering <em>thanks </em>and Oikawa looking guilty. Makki kicked him. “It’s fine,” he promised. Oikawa pouted anyways.</p><p> </p><p>Summer was nice. Unlike some of his idiot friends, Makki liked tanning, so even though it was late afternoon, he leaned his head back against the concrete wall and let what sun there was left lick its way over his skin. Exercise was always better when it was hot out, he thought, since if you were gonna sweat anyways might as well get something out of it. He pushed the cold pack to the back of his neck and sighed at the relief the chill provided. Maybe tomorrow he could lie out on the grass during lunch.</p><p> </p><p>“Oi,” Mattsun’s voice said above him. He opened his eyes to see him holding out a plastic bento box to him. Taking it, he realized it was somen, cold and packaged with crunchy looking green onions layered over the egg and meat strips.</p><p> </p><p>“Minimal chewing required,” Mattsun said, and picked up his bag with one hand, juggling shrimp chips and furikake popcorn with the other.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit man,” Hanamaki said, touched. He was suddenly very hungry. Somen was his favorite summer food—the best was when he put ice cubes in with the noodles and broth, and then drank it all afterwards and ran back out to the yard before his mom could catch him to do the dishes. “Thanks.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi and Oikawa appeared, one thing in Oikawa’s hand and an entire bag in Iwaizumi’s. “Onward!” Oikawa cheered. He forgot to pick up Makki’s bag this time, but it was fine. Makki balanced the somen on top of the ice pack to keep it cool.</p><p> </p><p>“Truth or dare,” Oikawa insisted after two movies, several YouTube videos, and a disturbing amount of food.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re such a damn drama queen,” Matsukawa groaned. “It’s twelve thirty in the am.”</p><p> </p><p>“Boring, Mattsun!” Oikawa gave Iwaizumi and Hanamaki intense looks until they shrugged and scooted closer.</p><p> </p><p>“Make me streak again and I’ll give you another nosebleed,” Iwaizumi threatened. He brushed crumbs off his hands.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not the plan,” Oikawa promised. “Last time you all chose dares. Which I appreciate! It’s good to know that you’d all do anything for me—”</p><p> </p><p>“—not what that means—”</p><p> </p><p>“—but now as your captain and with our final year coming up, I need to know everything I can about you guys so that I can be the best setter possible for you. It’s a trust exercise!”</p><p> </p><p>“Why aren’t the rest of the third years here then,” Mattsun asked, making honestly a pretty good point.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m feeling it out,” Oikawa said. “I’m testing out my strategy so that during training camp I can get the most information out of everyone with as much—as, uh,…”</p><p> </p><p>“Efficient,” Iwaizumi suggested.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes! As efficiently as possible!”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re terrifying,” Makki told him, wincing. Oikawa blinked his pretty brown eyes innocently.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s for the good of the team!”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi rolled his eyes but nudged Mattsun closer. “It’s for the good of your ego, Shittykawa.”</p><p> </p><p>“Whatever. The Great Oikawa-san is doing this for everyone’s benefit even if it’s not appreciated. Truth or Dare, Mattsun!”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun eyed him. “Who says I’m playing?”</p><p> </p><p>“Play and I’ll help you with your calculus homework tomorrow.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dare.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa smirked, evidently pleased. Makki rolled his eyes. “I dare you to do as many one handed push ups as you can.”</p><p> </p><p>“Are you going easy on me?” Mattsun asked while moving gingerly to his stomach.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m gonna take a video—” “—oh fuck you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun collapsed on his first try. And his second, and his third. On his fourth try, shaky, he managed to go up and down a few times before losing his balance again. “I’m too tall,” he complained.</p><p> </p><p>“Heh,” Iwaizumi chuckled quietly, as expected of the shortest and yet buffest member of their group. Mattsun swung at him, but it didn’t connect from his terrible vantage point.</p><p> </p><p>“Hanamaki, truth or dare,” Mattsun mumbled from where his face was pressed into the floor.</p><p> </p><p>“Truth,” he sighed.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s your greatest insecurity?”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi let out a low whistle and Oikawa giggled. Makki groaned before answering- “I can’t beat Iwaizumi at arm-wrestling.”</p><p> </p><p>The two losers burst out laughing, but Matsukawa shifted to give him a canny look from his dark eyes. “That’s not your greatest insecurity.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki drew his legs up to his chest. “It’s close enough!”</p><p> </p><p>“Nope,” Matsukawa said, unnervingly perceptive like the dead-eyed freak of nature he was. “Respect the integrity of the game, bro.”</p><p> </p><p>This time Iwaizumi and Oikawa sobered up, as much as they could while still staring at him and grinning.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Makki grumbled. “I’m insecure that I’m not very physically powerful. Or built or anything. I keep trying to do strength training, but then I get bored.”</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t really his <em>deepest darkest </em>insecurity, but it was depressing enough to appease Mattsun, who flopped back onto the floor and nodded. Oikawa and Iwaizumi, trusting that Mattsun knew him well enough to take it as an answer, backed off as well. Iwaizumi looked almost like he wanted to reassure him—Makki hoped he wouldn’t. Nothing like Brad Pitt telling you “It’s okay! You’re handsome enough!”</p><p> </p><p>“Go on then,” Oikawa insisted.</p><p> </p><p>“Truth or dare, muscles,” Makki asked Iwaizumi, before he could open his mouth and spout some complimentary bullshit.</p><p> </p><p>“Truth,” Iwaizumi said, and Oikawa threw Mattsun a reproachful look. Mattsun made a truly horrible face at Oikawa in return.</p><p> </p><p>“How many confession letters have you gotten that you’ve hidden from Oikawa?”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi’s eyes flared and he looked down and to the right. “Seven. Successfully.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa screeched. “Where are they????”</p><p> </p><p>“Hidden, you fucker!” They seemed to lunge at the same time; Oikawa gunning for the stairs, and Iwaizumi grabbing his ankles to keep him well and truly chained in the neutral territory of the game. “You lose the game if you leave the circle!”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not a rule!” Oikawa cried, trying his best to kick Iwaizumi’s jaw out of his face. “I create all the rules and that’s not one of them!”</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down, Oikawa,” Mattsun said (still from the floor), and his prank-smirk curled onto what Makki could see of his face. “We’ll find them out on the next round.”</p><p> </p><p>“You two suck so hard and I will fucking kill you,” threatened Iwaizumi, but it would have been a more effective threat if he weren’t still wrestling with Oikawa. He had the upper hand, Makki noticed with some dismay, likely due to how much stronger he was, and Oikawa went limp, only to roll away the moment Iwaizumi let him go and bolt for the stairs.</p><p> </p><p>“Dumbass,” Oikawa called at the same time that Iwaizumi face-planted and moaned into the rug. In less than a minute he reappeared, frilly papers in hand. “In your desk? Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“What was I supposed to do, burn them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously,” Oikawa muttered under his breath, and then passed half of them to Makki’s little grabby hands. Makki, feeling generous, put one in Mattsun’s mouth. Bittersweet resignation flooded the barren swamps of Iwaizumi’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“So much for truth or dare,” he said to the sound of his friends reading through his letters.</p><p> </p><p>“These are all boring,” Oikawa decided. “None of them have complimented your volleyball skills or your Godzilla figurines—”</p><p> </p><p>“—or your habit of only wearing athletic shoes—” Makki added.</p><p> </p><p>“—or your soft, luscious locks—” Mattsun crowed, not even having opened his own. Makki grabbed it and read it over himself; nothing about Iwaizumi’s more embarrassing or interesting qualities, just that he was nice and hot.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not making breakfast for you all tomorrow,” Iwaizumi snapped. “You can starve.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh no,” Oikawa said dramatically, and mood suddenly lifted, grabbed back all the letters and put them in Iwaizumi’s front pocket. “Okay, Makki-chan! Truth or dare?”</p><p> </p><p>He honestly hadn’t thought they’d still be playing that. “Truth?”</p><p> </p><p>“Boys or girls?”</p><p> </p><p>Well. Uh. Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>“…They’re both neat.” Why was he a fucking dork. Mattsun hummed to his right in a tone that could either mean ‘same’, ‘I support you’, or ‘I’m mostly asleep but I want to pretend I’m paying attention.’ Makki shoved his fingers further into his sweats to hide the trembling.</p><p> </p><p>“Would you kiss a boy?” Oikawa asked, scenting blood and going in for the kill. His eyes were as sharp as ever—this was why Makki pretended so often that they weren’t friends. Behind him, Iwaizumi didn’t bother to reign him in, watching curiously.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck, I guess I would,” he said with a half shrug. “’M not sexist.”</p><p> </p><p>Matsukawa barked a laugh at that and Makki was fucking relieved to hear it, feeling torn apart like an unshelled turtle or something. Oikawa hummed, still looking at him with those dumbass intimidating eyes, so Makki flashed him a peace sign and (after immediately regretting it) turned to Mattsun. “Motherfucker. Truth or Dare?”</p><p> </p><p>“Is the dare to fuck your mother?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, you cod,” Makki scolded.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh. Then truth.”</p><p> </p><p>“What would you rate Hanamaki’s ass,” Iwaizumi cut in. Mattsun flopped over to look at him, and then processing the question, pulled himself upright as if to get a better look.</p><p> </p><p>“Why do I feel like I’m getting exposed from all of these questions?” Makki asked no one in particular.</p><p> </p><p>“Eat fucking shit,” Iwaizumi told him, and Makki winced and saluted.</p><p> </p><p>“A solid eight or nine,” Mattsun said, having lain back on his elbows for the final angle of reckoning. “Points off for being in pajamas and also not standing up for me.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am,” Makki announced, “a god.”</p><p>“Oikawa you’re a two,” Mattsun told him, protected only slightly by the distance, and not at all from the pillow flung in his face.</p><p> </p><p>It took three more rounds for them to weasel another truth out of Iwaizumi, and then Oikawa wasted it on asking if he had planned on responding to any of the confession letters. Iwaizumi gave him a resounding no, and whacked him for good measure.</p><p> </p><p>“Ouch, you fucker,” Oikawa whined. “There shouldn’t be this kind of punishment for playing the game!”</p><p> </p><p>“It’s your fault we’re playing it, and this is the price,” Iwaizumi growled. “Also, I’m fucking tired and I’m going to bed!”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun yawned and tacked on a “me too” as Iwaizumi got to his feet, Oikawa pouting after him. It always took forever for Mattsun to stand up, the drawback of being the tallest in their group, but there he was standing before Makki could even decide if he was tired or not.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t, he decided, and he didn’t feel like fighting Mattsun for the guest bathroom anyways. The two of them disappeared down the hall, and Makki was left with Oikawa and his terribly keen eyes.</p><p> </p><p>That was maybe a mistake. Oikawa turned his gaze on him and Makki realized the guy’s thirst for drama and power had not nearly been quenched by the short game.</p><p> </p><p>“So,” Oikawa said. “you’d kiss a guy?”</p><p> </p><p>“What, you offering?” Makki asked reflexively. Wait, shit. Oikawa just laughed and scooted closer.</p><p> </p><p>“Dumbass,” Makki said. “I’m not—I’m not gonna be weird about it.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa had somehow gotten way too close for comfort, his eyelashes easily visible in the livingroom lamp light. “I’m not worried, Makki-chan, it’s fine. How’s your bruise?”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa gently touched his cheek—Makki had already forgotten he’d gotten hit there earlier, but Oikawa’s eyes lingered there for a moment. Makki wasn’t even breathing. The thumb under his cheekbone moved, and the fingertips at the back of his neck pulled him forward and Oikawa’s mouth was on his and fuck if it wasn’t soft and warm as hell. The last time Makki had kissed someone it had been too wet and he remembered thinking in the middle of it that he was bored but now. Oh now he felt like his heart might jump out of his chest and then Oikawa shifted and kissed his lower lip and Makki opened his mouth and there was his tongue and—</p><p> </p><p>--so this was what it was like to kiss Oikawa Tooru. He’d crept closer and was practically sitting on his lap now and his hands hadn’t left Makki’s face; he couldn’t pull away if he wanted to. Fuck, he didn’t want to. He wanted Oikawa’s tongue to stay the fuck where it was and he wanted to keep pushing his hands under the hem of his shirt and he wanted to see if Oikawa was being quiet on purpose and if he could make him forget that—</p><p> </p><p>He slipped up and moaned and Oikawa pulled back sharply. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”</p><p> </p><p>He was still worried about his cheek, he realized. Makki tried to control his breathing, but he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Oikawa. Not that Oikawa had released him yet either. “I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re so red.” Oikawa blinked. “You’re a really good kisser, Makki-chan.”</p><p> </p><p>“I- Thanks?” He felt the reflexive insult mechanism bubble up with a <em>wish I could say the same about you </em>but a) something about the moment felt a little too unsteady for his usual bowling-ball personality and b) it wasn’t <em>true. </em>“Flattery will get you everywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>“Will it,” Oikawa said, and his eyes moved down Makki’s face. “Well in that case-“</p><p> </p><p>A loud thump from upstairs sounded and Oikawa nearly leapt off his lap, somehow six feet away from him in one second flat. Makki’s heart jackhammered. It really was a day for cardio.</p><p> </p><p>“We should-“ “Bedtime?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yep,” Makki said, and he scrambled to get up. He wanted to give Oikawa a hand, but before he could get close Oikawa was on his own feet already, resolutely looking anywhere but into Makki’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“The guest shower’s open,” he said, grabbing a load of snacks from the table. “I’ll take one in my own room, it sounds like Iwa-chan’s done.”</p><p> </p><p>“Got it,” Makki answered. He twisted his hands in his jacket, the only thing he had to pick up.</p><p> </p><p>“Night, Makki-chan!” And then Oikawa was gone.</p><p> </p><p>So this was what it was like to be in love with Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki thought.</p><p> </p><p>He wandered off to the guest bathroom, pink head full of cotton candy.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Matsukawa lifted an eyebrow at him when he got to lunch late but didn’t say a word. Much unlike Oikawa and Iwaizumi.</p><p> </p><p>“So you think you’re too good to get to lunch with us on time, Makki?” Oikawa asked. “You’ve got other stuff to do than slum it with a mere Olympic athlete like me?”</p><p> </p><p>“Makki’s got about five thousand more Instagram followers than you,” Iwaizumi pointed out. “He probably takes the long route to avoid the paparazzi.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki had decided to show up late in order to reduce the chance of being alone with Mattsun, but he instead graced the three of them with a cutting “It actually just took me an extra fifteen minutes to squeeze in the door. Hard to get in past Oikawa’s big head, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi snickered while Oikawa gasped, and Makki slid into the booth next to Mattsun. He knew they’d be sat like this. He was prepared.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t prepared for the way Mattsun’s knee didn’t knock against his like it usually did. Long and lanky as he was, it meant Mattsun was making a conscious effort not to touch him, and fuck if it didn’t bother him.</p><p> </p><p>He deserved it though, with the unopened text of <em>you good? </em>burning a hole in his pocket even now.</p><p> </p><p>He caught sight of Mattsun’s hand wrapped around—<em>dwarfing </em>the glass of orange juice and felt his stomach jolt, so he pointedly looked at the menu.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s the drinks menu,” Iwaizumi told him. “We ordered for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Maybe I want a drink. Wait, you ordered for me?” He narrowed his eyes at Oikawa. “Why do I feel like I’m going to regret that?”</p><p> </p><p>“Because it’s punishment for being late, of course,” Oikawa sniffed. Iwaizumi jabbed him in the ribs.</p><p> </p><p>“Mattsun ordered for you, not Crappykawa, don’t worry. Well, do worry actually. He sounded very sure but I don’t know if it was in a good way or a bad way.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki swung his head around but this time it was Mattsun who was avoiding looking at him, though his eyebrows still twitched and the corner of his mouth curled. Fuck.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m definitely worried,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Just pick out your drink, you lush,” Mattsun told him. “There’s a rosé mimosa.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki deflated. There was no way anything else on the list would sound better to him than a rosé mimosa. He was absolutely trapped.</p><p> </p><p>“Whipped,” Iwaizumi muttered, and Makki had no idea which one of them he was referring to but he kicked Iwaizumi anyways. Oikawa squealed in pain instead, and the three of them (minus Oikawa, who was still gritting his teeth) burst out laughing.</p><p> </p><p>“Out of all the people here you hit the one of us who uses his <em>body </em>for his profession,” Oikawa growled, but the weird tension that had kept him at the edge of his seat had dissipated and Mattsun’s elbow bumped his.</p><p> </p><p>“That doesn’t sound how you want it to sound,” Mattsun pointed out, still chuckling.</p><p> </p><p>“I actually have a lot of respect for sex workers,” Oikawa said, and then seemed to remember he was back in Japan and swiveled his head to see if anyone had heard him.</p><p> </p><p>“Idiot,” Iwaizumi said. It always sounded far fonder than he probably thought it sounded. On the other hand, Iwaizumi, hot tempered as he was, never hid his affection, unlike—</p><p> </p><p>Unlike the rest of them? Nah, that wouldn’t be quite fair. Unlike Hanamaki and Oikawa. Mattsun had never been anything less than honest, as subtle as he was.</p><p> </p><p>“Here you go,” the server said pleasantly. “Salad, curry,” placing each in front of Oikawa and Iwaizumi, “hamburger, and somen.” The last she set down in front of Hanamaki, adding the small bowl of tsuyu quickly.</p><p> </p><p>Makki felt his mouth twist harshly. His fucking nose stung. He wanted to give Mattsun a hug, or bury his face in his hoodie, or walk out of the restaurant or something. He was such a piece of shit.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks man,” he said quietly instead, and then added louder to the server, “Thank you so much.”</p><p> </p><p>“You’re welcome!” The server swept away, but not before giving Oikawa a look like he couldn’t quite place him. He’d figure it out eventually.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun still wasn’t touching him at all. To hell with it, Makki thought, and hit his knee none too gently against Mattsun’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Loser,” Mattsun said, and that was a start.</p><p> </p><p>The burst of ginger in the broth was fucking excellent. Maybe he’d survive this.</p><p> </p><p>It took a while for any of them to come up for air after getting started with their food, but eventually Mattsun put down his burger and wiped his face.</p><p> </p><p>“Where will you be after this, Oikawa? After the games are over, I mean.”</p><p> </p><p>Hanamaki tried to chew a touch more quietly, eyes moving between Mattsun and Oikawa and once touching on Iwaizumi, who looked—sheepish? And what the fuck was Mattsun gunning for, asking something like this the day after—after they—</p><p> </p><p>“Depends if I win or not,” Oikawa shrugged, still as infuriatingly confident and yet somehow calmer, more nonchalant than his former high school self. “Going for gold, you know? And if I don’t get it, I’m not gonna just give up. It’ll be back to Argentina.”</p><p> </p><p>“And if you do?”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa knocked on the wooden back of the booth’s seats, to the confusion of the other three, and said “I guess I’ll come back to Japan then.”</p><p> </p><p>Iwaizumi’s hands twitched on the table top.</p><p> </p><p>“My trainer said I’ve got maybe five years left on my knee, apparently, as long as I don’t have a bad fall,” Oikawa continued more quietly. “So either I put everything I’ve got into the next five years or I get it now and stretch it out for the rest of my life.”</p><p> </p><p>“Your poor green card wife,” Mattsun said dryly. “You’ll just be leaving her there, all alone with your four kids.” Hanamaki wanted to hit him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll send her child support from the meager checks I make teaching volleyball,” Oikawa promised, chuckling. “Besides, my parents probably have a net and a set of handcuffs ready for the moment I step off the court this week, win or lose.”</p><p> </p><p>“Kinky,” Mattsun said, and as Makki chuckled Oikawa swung a kick at him, naturally hitting the wrong person. He groaned over his somen as Mattsun’s chuckling got louder.</p><p> </p><p>“I guess we’re all going to the Olympics in four years anyways no matter what,” Makki sighed, “Since Iwaizumi’s got a proper job and he’ll be dragging team Japan to first place through willpower and thorough stretching alone.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll win this year too,” Iwaizumi promised, cracking his knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s not you, it’s your proxies,” Hanamaki rolled his eyes. “Honestly, you’re more competitive than Oikawa.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a paradox,” Mattsun said. Hanamaki moved his knee away, feeling a little irritated and uncharitable at the moment, and missed Mattsun’s frown.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, sorry to Iwaizumi, but you’d better win this week and you’d better come home,” Hanamaki told Oikawa. “Obviously by your meager follower count you’re not doing very well in your chosen career and it’s time for you to settle down.”</p><p> </p><p>“Aww, getting lonely Makki-chan?” Oikawa winked. “Want me all to yourself?”</p><p> </p><p>Hanamaki swallowed down the <em>more than you know </em>with a twist of his mouth and said “Not really, but Takeru has been beating Aoba Johsai at all of their tournaments and I think you need to beat some sense into him.”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa groaned at that, and flopped his face down to the surface of the table with a thunk. “Don’t get me started on that little brat! He hasn’t said anything nice to me since he turned nine!”</p><p> </p><p>“Neither have I,” pointed out Iwaizumi, which reanimated Oikawa like a puppet on a string to jerk up and say “Uh, I distinctly remember a specific night where you said—”</p><p> </p><p>“—that’s all the flirting I need to hear,” Mattsun interjected, prompting both of them to flush red and Hanamaki to feel a surge of murderous intent towards Mattsun. It was closely followed by shame, which only grew when Mattsun looked at him through the corner of his eye and frowned at Hanamaki again before looking away. Shit.</p><p> </p><p>“Well,” Iwaizumi said, putting down a few bills and clearing his throat, “I’ve gotta get back to the team before their match starts, and this idiot’s getting a ride with me, so we’re going now. Not a fucking word or I’ll beat your ass, Mattsun.”</p><p> </p><p>“I mean if you’re promising—” He doubled over in pain, apparently this time getting kicked by both of the men across from them. Hanamaki was only partially satisfied, kind of wishing he could kick Mattsun too without getting some terrible attention from it.</p><p> </p><p>“I am <em>not </em>promising,” Iwaizumi said, and stood, followed closely by Oikawa. Hanamaki mutely watched them leave, barely inclining his head in an obligatory goodbye, realizing all too late that he was alone with Mattsun again which was what he had been <em>trying </em>to <em>avoid. </em></p><p> </p><p>He had no idea what to say.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun, apparently, did.</p><p> </p><p>“You’re still into him,” he said, going straight for the kill, going for ‘let’s find the most damning thing to say to Makki for being a fuck-and-run kind of guy.’</p><p> </p><p>He could feel his entire face tense up. “I thought you knew the answer to that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Christ, Takahiro, it’s been a <em>decade. </em>He hasn’t even been in the same country as you.”</p><p> </p><p>Ah. The personal name was coming out. “Doesn’t mean we haven’t talked, or that we’re not friends anymore—”</p><p> </p><p>“—and you’re seriously still that hung up on him? Why can’t you get over it?”</p><p> </p><p>“Why the fuck do you care so much, you knew, you could tell—”</p><p> </p><p>He could see Mattsun clenching his jaw, the skin moving into shadow. Adrenaline was sending his heart haywire. There was a reason Makki didn’t get into arguments. Like, ever. He kind of wanted to throw up.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun’s eyes shifted away from his and to the wall behind him. “I figured you were just nostalgic or something. Didn’t think you <em>actually </em>would just hang around pining after him for <em>this long-“</em></p><p> </p><p>“That’s a lot of words just to say you’re jealous,” Makki snapped, frail hold on his temper breaking. “It’s not like you ever asked me out.”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t either, but at least I don’t leave in the middle of the night and ignore your texts—”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m <em>so </em>sorry,” Makki said, and he knew he was being petty, knew he was being a downright bitch but he couldn’t help it with his pulse running like a rabbit. “I-“</p><p> </p><p>“-you know you’re not Iwaizumi Hajime, right?”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun really was good at sniffing out his insecurities. Makki was speechless, or at least, he wished he were, because—“Fuck you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun just stared at him, that unreadable look that could have meant he regretted it, or he didn’t, or he was still mad, or shocked, or—</p><p> </p><p>“Can I bring you the check?” The server asked, completely oblivious.</p><p> </p><p>“We’ll pay up front,” Mattsun said with the hint of a smile, looking the server in the eyes and <em>not </em>Makki, and the fucking hurt and guilt and jealousy (?) kept Makki from even glancing at the server. “C’mon. Up up.”</p><p> </p><p>He slapped Mattsun’s hand away, but the guy was as unruffled as ever, except Makki knew better now. Knew that if he had one way to get under Mattsun’s skin it was to sleep with him and then ditch him and be in love with their friend instead of him.</p><p> </p><p>He handed his card to the cashier at the register podium and didn’t bother to smile, letting Mattsun handle all the social work.</p><p> </p><p>“Wasn’t that guy with you on the volleyball team?” the cashier asked. So helpful.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah, he was our high school friend,” Mattsun answered. “Bit of a douchebag, really, but he’s dedicated.”</p><p> </p><p>“Obviously,” the cashier said, handing their cards back. “Good luck! Well, to him, I guess.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks,” Makki mustered up, as if he could answer for the card and the well wishes in one word. He followed Mattsun out the door.</p><p> </p><p>“Do you need a ride?” Mattsun was pulling out a cigarette again. Makki wanted to stomp it out as much as he wanted to hug him and bury his face in Mattsun’s neck and have him pet his hair and forgive him.</p><p> </p><p>“No,” he said instead, and then cleared his throat. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mmhmm,” Mattsun hummed, and didn’t look at him.</p><p> </p><p>Makki didn’t have anything left to say (a lie, he just couldn’t think of anything he really ought to say) and so after the most awkward pause of his life he turned on his heel and walked away.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>if you haven't yet, go get obsessed with pierre by ryn weaver. or go have a sexuality crisis and mess up your relationships</p><p>also how do you put the tab in the story summary?? how do people do that??</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. babe, would you still love me if I were a worm?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ok i fully wrote myself into a corner here what the fuck i do not have enough therapy under my own cheap reversible belt to figure out how to reconcile them. It’s a good thing these are fictional characters and not ~me~ because oof. Yikes.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Makki’s shitty old iPhone started playing its facetime ringtone as the screen blurred and <em>duh Trisha </em>started scrolling across the top. He slid the lock open and Oikawa’s shitty, data-blurred face pixelated itself into view.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Makki-chan!” </em></p><p> </p><p>His voice had been shit for the past three years. With none of them willing to pay international call fees, the four of them were relegated to talking to Oikawa, and more often than not each other, over facetime that slunk its way around a dirt cheap apartment complex in Argentina, the best place Oikawa could find on a newbie’s sports salary. He’d gotten so used to it he wasn’t even bothered anymore by the freezing, the chunkiness, the rattle destroying the entire bloody beautiful personality of his friend. Oikawa himself never seemed to mind either, though sometimes he’d sink down to the bottom of the screen as he stared at the rest of them and would tell them in a sad little voice that he missed them and that he didn’t like his flatmates at all. It was okay to say it out loud, he insisted, because none of them spoke Japanese and wouldn’t even know it if he called them sonsabitches to their faces.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Do you like your teammates?” </em>Iwaizumi would ask, dryly and not hinting at any sort of jealousy at all and Oikawa would brighten up as if he didn’t know the correct answer was ‘no’ and tell them all about how happy he was with his spikers, even if they were all three or four years older than him, and how he managed to charm his way into treating them like his little siblings. “<em>It’s amazing how much they don’t care about age,” </em>he said, “<em>Aside from Blanco-san and one other person, no one’s asked my age at all!”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>“Didn’t you say they tried to get you a fake ID because they thought you were seventeen? And when they found out you could go in bars they tried to get you raging drunk in celebration?”</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Oikawa had grinned in embarrassment and dropped his phone slightly to ruffle his hair. “<em>Well, yeah, but they let up when I got heatstroke and almost passed out.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>“Good guys,” </em>Iwaizumi snorted.</p><p> </p><p>The other two weren’t here now, Oikawa had called Hanamaki directly instead of the groupchat. It wasn’t that unusual, though he wouldn’t be surprised if Iwaizumi was busy at the time and Oikawa had known it.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s up,” Hanamaki said, grinning down at the screen. He wiggled around to face the window, afternoon sunlight hitting his face.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I’m so utterly tired, dude,” </em>Oikawa moaned, himself half hidden in shadow. It was—it must have been four am where Oikawa was. What the fuck?</p><p> </p><p>“Dude, why the hell are you awake? What-“ Makki sputtered for a moment, trying to reconcile Oikawa being awake at this time, Oikawa complaining about being tired, and Oikawa choosing now to call him—him, specifically.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Can’t sleep. Well, I could, but I’m this weird mix of buzzed and anxious and, I’m like thinking too hard but—I don’t know, man. I don’t have anything to do tomorrow but I know I’m going to end up sleeping in because my sleep schedule is completely fucked so I’ve just been staying up tonight distracting myself. Iwa-chan had a test two days ago so he’s completely off the grid catching up on work and won’t let me call him.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Makki rolled his eyes. “So you figured I wouldn’t be doing anything important.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Well, are you?” </em>He knew Oikawa well enough (despite the fact that they had been apart for about as long as they had been together in high school in the first place) that he knew the glint that had just come into Oikawa’s eyes, even if he couldn’t quite make it out through the tiny screen. Oikawa flipped over onto his stomach and peered at him. “<em>It looks like you’re just hanging out at home on your phone.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“I’m networking,” Makki said.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Is that what the kids call it?”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Makki chuckled. “Punk.” He gazed at the shitty resolution of Oikawa’s face, smile unable to fall from his lips. “What’s got you anxious?”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>It’s not a big deal,” </em>Oikawa sighed. Makki kind of wished he’d turn on another light. He was probably keeping them off not to bother his flatmates—even if he was talking on the phone at four am. Makki wondered, not for the first time, why he’d moved out of his distant cousin’s place last year, when it landed him in such a shitty place. He was willing to bet it had something to do with Oikawa hating to feel like a burden, a constant guest in debt to someone else.</p><p> </p><p><em>“Blanco’s great, he really is. It’s just—” </em>Oikawa seemed to be struggling to speak here. “<em>He really doesn’t mince his words. I understand it—I appreciate it. I don’t expect people to lie, or promise things they can’t, especially in this professional kind of sphere. But we had a career kind of chat, and. Well, he’s not at all certain we’re going to get anywhere close to the top of the league this year, let alone enough screen time for Olympic drafts. And that’s literally next year.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Makki knew. Even if he wasn’t duty-bound and love-chained to prick his ears up anytime volleyball or the Olympics were mentioned, 2016 Olympics in Rio was a phrase well-trodden into his brain from ads, TV, friends, parents—anything. “So what’s the problem?”</p><p> </p><p>Oikawa hung his head. <em>“I know. It’s not going to happen fast. It’s just—I’m getting nervous. I’ve been here for so long, it feels like, and I’m so lonely. And I feel like I’ve made a mistake. Like I’ve traded in everything for a chance and I might not ever get that chance and I’ve lost everything else in return.”</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“First of all, idiot,” Makki started, and Oikawa giggled and he had to break off to laugh himself and start again. “First of all. You haven’t lost anything. The moment—the very minute!—you decide you’re done with Argentina and everything and you want to come back home, you tell us, and Mattsun and Iwaizumi and I will buy a house in the countryside and you can live in the basement and we’ll set up a net outside and go visit everyone’s parents on the weekends. Got it? So you haven’t lost shit. We’re just all on pause here waiting for you. Well, Iwaizumi’s in Cali but that’s just so he can get that degree and make good money so we can buy the house because god knows me and Mattsun are the trophies, not the breadwinners.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Dumbass,” </em>Oikawa said fondly, and Makki’s heart skipped a beat.</p><p> </p><p>“Second, <em>dumbass,” </em>he continued, “You have Jose Blanco teaching you, and you’re Oikawa Tooru, and you flew across half the world to work for this, and you aren’t even letting a social life get in your way, and you really think you’re not gonna get a shot at this? Look, it’s like fucking, um, politics or whatever. The pendulum swings, man. Maybe this year your team is in the pits, but wasn’t it way worse when you started? You’re a growing team, man. You’ve got momentum. You’re just gonna have to be patient and ride it all the way to the top. That’s the good thing about being pro, dude, you don’t have to cram in all your ambitions to three years like high school.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Makki,” </em>Oikawa sighed, and gave him a ridiculous little pout. “<em>I love you so much. Thank you.” </em></p><p> </p><p>“Anytime, man. Cause I’m right.” Makki kind of wanted to reach through the phone and grab him. Maybe bury his face in his shirt. “And I’m serious about making Iwaizumi buy a house for all of us, you know.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>I know you are.</em>” Oikawa flipped over to his other side again, and what Makki could see of his face looked happy. “<em>I want an engawa. And a big kitchen.”</em></p><p> </p><p>“Yeah? Who’s gonna cook?” Makki ignored the warmth blooming in his chest at the thought of ten years from now, slipping out the front door of his own home to see Oikawa sitting in the sunlight, turning around to look at him with smiling eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Me, obviously! Who do you think cooks for me now? I can’t just walk to the corner store and get karaage anymore, I’ve had to learn how to make it myself, and let me tell you, it’s not fun in a tiny apartment kitchen. You know how many times I’ve set off the smoke alarm? I-“</em></p><p> </p><p>Makki stayed silent and watched him talk, dopey smile on his face.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>He got a text from Mattsun at five-twenty nine pm.</p><p> </p><p>It was a long one.</p><p> </p><p>Makki had his notifications set so that they don’t show what the message says from his lockscreen (his mom’s the nosy type that will pick up his phone and look at it, and she’s just too nice of a person for him to say “mom, don’t read my texts”). Still, the first buzz with Mattsun’s accompanying name was enough to churn his stomach in a solid three flips and send his hands shaking because they had <em>not </em>left each other on what anyone would call good terms, and they hadn’t sent any texts since Mattsun’s morning unanswered one. He’d opened their messages long enough to turn notification alerts back on. A mistake? May-fucking-be.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the notification long enough to see that it was an entire paragraph, and immediately closed his phone again and walked out of the room because. Uh-uh. He didn’t do confrontation. He didn’t own up to shit. He was the type of person that religiously kept read receipts off for extra security.</p><p> </p><p>It took him ten minutes of messing around in the living room before he went and got his phone again, curiosity overcoming him.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This is just to say</em>
</p><p>
  <em>That i have eaten the plums<br/>
that were</em>
</p><p><em>Nah im just fucking kidding<br/>
man. Sorry for jumping down<br/>
your throat like that it’s not my<br/>
business if you still like him and<br/>
you don’t own me anything. I<br/>
shouldn’t have said that shit<br/>
and ur right to be mad at me for<br/>
that. I do miss you though, can<br/>
we be friends again? No homo<br/>
</em>5:29 pm</p><p>*<em>owe me anything<br/>
</em>5:30 pm</p><p> </p><p>Makki closed his phone and walked away again, a wave-crashing storm of relief that for some god-blessed inscrutable reason Mattsun wasn’t mad at him more and pure guilt that Mattsun wasn’t <em>mad </em>at him anymore and was <em>apologizing </em>as if he’d done anything wrong, like Mattsun was somehow now a decade older and more mature than him even if he still managed to get two memes into one text and could still make Makki laugh in the middle of his throat closing up. He was such an idiot. He was such a fucking idiot and Makki wasn’t sure if he was talking about himself anymore or Mattsun but he was sitting alone on his apartment chock full of emotions on a beautiful summer afternoon and all he could think about was that he was twenty six and he missed his best friend so so so fucking much.</p><p> </p><p>It was still brilliantly light out at six pm, and Makki loved summer for that. Loved being in the city and going for evening walks to the Starbucks around the corner, loved sitting in the park with a pink drink (or sometimes an iced matcha latte but he didn’t dye his hair pink constantly to <em>not </em>keep up with his aesthetics), loved filming short videos for his Instagram of himself and his outfit and the pale near-lilac sky above him. Maybe his eyelashes looked pretty good today. He didn’t even need to put music over the video, someone else at the park had brought out a speaker that was nearly perfect in its balance between loud enough to cover ground and not so loud that the owner was getting nasty stares. The thrum of a bass covered by piano floated into the sky above him and he leaned back on the bench as he watched the people walking past.</p><p> </p><p>Two old women were sitting together at the table just seven feet away. They were on opposite sides, perfectly dressed, one grasping her umbrella and one with a hand outstretched on the top of the table. He caught the eye of the taller one, and she smiled ever so slightly and nodded, and Makki realized how he must look, sad and starry eyed and ever so obviously gay that he couldn’t imagine how his parents were missing it after all this time, and the women in their trousers pulled him into a daydream he couldn’t imagine he’d have of being in love and sixty-seven in the park with his partner. He blinked and stopped staring.</p><p> </p><p>“It’ll be okay, child,” he imagined them saying. “It does get better.”</p><p> </p><p>And then he thought about Mattsun’s face, smiling at him every single time they saw each other, and he thought about the house he wanted to get with Oikawa with the engawa wrapping around the front and calligraphy in the genkan that said Tooru and Takahiro, and now the bass from the nearby speaker was reminding him of Mattsun so casual over his sofa with a guitar in his lap and a record spinning lazily in the corner. It could be Makki sitting across from him, coffee cupped in his hands. Going home every day to someone who was happy to see him. Someone who made him laugh even if they’d been apart for one day or three years. Even if they were fighting. Someone who took Makki’s entire horrible personality and folded it down and together and resurfaced with a patient smile and calm dark eyes.</p><p> </p><p>He really fucked up.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“Hi sweetheart,” the old gentleman at the florist shop greeted him. “How did those asagao work out?”</p><p> </p><p>“Amazing,” Makki said, and pulled out his phone to show him the photos, including the one he’d published to his Instagram. It hadn’t gotten as many likes as he’d wanted, but it had gotten him a partnership with a more famous florist who was going to pay him for advertisement work next month. Despite that, Maeshiro’s was where he would be going for flowers for the rest of his life if he had anything to say about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Those look good,” Mr. Maeshiro said, holding his phone at arm’s length and peering over his glasses the way anyone over forty did nowadays. “You’re very good at photographs, love.”</p><p> </p><p>“The flowers did all the work,” Makki insisted. “Your granddaughter does a great job too with the shop’s Instagram.”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Maeshiro squinted at him. “She makes an Instagram? For this shop?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki laughed. “Whoops! You didn’t know?”</p><p> </p><p>“Aho,” he muttered, limping around the corner. “Show it to me. I want to make sure she hasn’t put any pictures of me on it.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki quickly pocketed his phone and held up his hands. “Ask her yourself! Mizuki is very talented and that is all I will say on the matter.”</p><p> </p><p>“Mizuho is a nosy little girl that keeps eating all my ice cream,” Mr. Maeshiro corrected him, peering up his nose at Hanamaki. “What are you here for? You didn’t order anything this week. Are you just coming to gossip?”</p><p>“I-“</p><p> </p><p>“That’s fine, you know,” Mr. Maeshiro said, limping back around. “You should have seen the bouquet this man came in for the other day. He pissed off his wife and he wanted to bring her lilies and carnations together because those were his <em>mother’s </em>favorite flowers. Complete idiot. I told him—once!—that it wasn’t a good bouquet, but he insisted, so he walked out of here with the ugliest orange and purple bouquet I’ve ever made in my life. Took the shop’s name off of it. If anyone asks, he didn’t get it from me.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s awful,” Makki winced. “Would you tell me if I asked for something ugly?”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t ask for ugly things. Smart boy like you.”</p><p> </p><p>“But if I did, would you?” Makki pressed.</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Maeshiro looked at him. “Yes. And I would sit you down and explain why it was so terrible and tell you three different things you should get instead. And then I would get Mizuho in here and have you repeat it back to her just to make sure you both understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ouch—”</p><p> </p><p>“She’s graduating college this year and her mom’s been asking her when she’s getting married. I don’t give a fuck but in case you’re looking for a wife, you’d get a family discount here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Doesn’t sound like you don’t give a fuck,” Makki teased. Mr. Maeshiro snorted at him.</p><p> </p><p>“I’d rather have you hanging around my house all day than some idiot who thinks carnations and lilies go together, you hear me?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki inclined his head, but he had no intention of meeting up with Mizuki-chan, for many reasons.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I order some Queen of the Night tulips?”</p><p> </p><p>Mr. Maeshiro gave him a look. “Those <em>don’t </em>match your hair.” Then he walked into the back room.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>At nine pm, Makki knocked on Mattsun’s apartment door. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it to himself, that he’d checked Mattsun’s location on Snapchat Maps to make sure he was home instead of anywhere else before sending a text back and asking if he could come over to talk, but he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun opened the door seconds later, soft black clothes and wet hair and sleepy eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>“Hi,” Makki said, a little breathless. Mattsun stepped to the side a little, wordlessly inviting him in, but Makki stood as still as a statue, feet stone and hands twisting behind his back. A frown creased Mattsun’s forehead and he slowly stepped back into place.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m an idiot,” Makki said, voice rushing out of him. “You’re right and I’m an idiot and you shouldn’t have had to apologize to me.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun didn’t say a thing. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Makki continued.</p><p> </p><p>“I knew for years that I wasn’t going to be with Oikawa and I knew a relationship between me and him wouldn’t work out anyways but it was so much easier than fucking up in all my other relationships was and it was easy to keep it to myself and hope that I could have it one day in the future, but I’m an idiot and it was just an excuse I had when I hurt you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t have to—”</p><p> </p><p>“Please.” Makki said. “Let me try my best.”</p><p> </p><p>He could see a drop of water sliding down Mattsun’s collarbone, and it was mostly because he wasn’t looking him in the eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I really want to be friends with you, and more, or anything you want, because no one is—there’s no one like you in my life.”</p><p> </p><p>At that he looked to the side, and then past Mattsun, and then realized that he really should know what his face looked like after saying such damning things. Had to show he was being honest.</p><p> </p><p>“Makki,” Mattsun said in a dry tone. “What are you hiding behind your back?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki bit his cheek, making his lips pout. “That depends on your answer.”</p><p> </p><p>“Takahiro.”</p><p> </p><p>“Issei.”</p><p> </p><p>“If I have the wrong answer are you gonna hit me with it?”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s not a bad idea. You’ll get it either way, won’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Will it cause me bodily harm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Only if ingested.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun stared at him, and then that frowny little mouth curved into a smile in the corners, and then spread over his whole face until he was grinning at Makki. His own heart was hammering too hard to try to smile himself, but he was actually holding his gaze this time, looking for something in those black black eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“You can have,” Mattsun said, “whatever you want from me.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki bit his lip, and then drew out the bouquet of tulips, so dark in their purple color they looked black from behind him. “I thought they’d match your apartment. You vampire.”</p><p> </p><p>“Babe,” Mattsun said, stupid giddy smile all over his face. “This is my favorite type of salad.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki had the fierce and nearly uncontrollable urge to actually beat him over the head with the bouquet, but instead just shoved it into his chest and smacked Mattsun with open palms until he caught him by the wrist, pulling him inside and pushing the door closed with his foot.</p><p> </p><p>“I love it,” he said, still grinning down at Makki. “Thank you.”</p><p> </p><p>“You better,” Makki said. He fucking loved being wrapped up in Mattsun’s arms like this. The bouquet was slightly crushed between them, the smell of leaves and flowers mixing with Mattsun’s shower gel. Mattsun gazed at him calmly, as if waiting for something, and Makki leaned closer. Realized that it was his turn to put himself out there, after years of waiting for people to come to him. Moved closer and pressed his lips to his best friend’s.</p><p> </p><p>Matsukawa kissed him like he’d been waiting a decade for it. As if the last time had never happened. Like Hanamaki had been falling from the top of a cliff and Matsukawa was the water below it, shifting to slow motion the moment he hit. A hand slid let go of his wrist and slid down to his waist, pulling him closer and tighter and he didn’t want to let go.</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun did let go, eventually. Well, to be more accurate, he broke the kiss so that he could grin at Makki some more, but didn’t let go of his waist, but all the same Makki was a little disappointed.</p><p> </p><p>“Babe,” he said, because boundaries had never really been a thing in their friendship, “if you stop kissing me how am I supposed to crawl inside of your skin?”</p><p> </p><p>“Babe,” Mattsun said back, because he was a mortician and was unphased by creepy shit, “That’s making me horny, stop it.”</p><p> </p><p>“Babe, that’s the point.”</p><p>At that Mattsun grabbed his hair and gently tugged his head back and forth as if he were a misbehaving dog. “While we’re on the subject,” he said, as if the subject were something other than body horror, “if you leave me in the middle of the night again for any reason other than a late night snack run then I’m not giving you another chance, got it?”</p><p> </p><p>Makki really wanted to say ‘harder, daddy’, but he wanted to kiss Mattsun again even more, so he said “got it” and kissed the inside of Mattsun’s wrist, and then grabbed his arm and kissed it too, and then his shoulder, and his neck, and then laid his chin on Mattsun’s shoulder until he was just standing there and holding him together just inside the door of his apartment at night. He thought he could feel Mattsun’s heartbeat against his. He could <em>definitely </em>feel Mattsun smoothing a hand up and down his back.</p><p> </p><p>“We should get these in water,” he murmured, and made no effort to move.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re going to die in about two days, aren’t they,” Makki said, realizing he’d never seen a live plant in any of Mattsun’s apartments ever.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s okay,” Mattsun hummed, and he could feel the bass of his voice through Mattsun’s ribcage and into his own. “I’m good at preserving dead things.”</p><p> </p><p>Makki subsided into giggles at that, still wrapped up in Mattsun’s arms with his face half against a warm neck and half against some cold flowers.</p><p> </p><p>“What made you change your mind?” Mattsun asked.</p><p> </p><p>Makki let his eyes flutter shut. Let Mattsun support a little more of his weight.</p><p> </p><p>“Five years ago,” he muttered into his skin, “we were on a facetime call with the other two. And I think Iwaizumi asked me something, about work, or how I was doing or something, or about my job at the time. And I was having a shit time at work so I lied about it and made a joke and they laughed, but you didn’t laugh. And usually I can get you to laugh, so I was a little bothered by that.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun didn’t move, didn’t say anything, but just hummed into him.</p><p> </p><p>“And you texted me later that night and just. Flooded my messages with pictures and jokes and shit and then the next day you made me go get ice cream with you and for the rest of the time I was working at that stupid job you’d do these little pick me ups every so often so that I’d come home and find something to be happy about instead of being miserable. And I was so miserable when I got your text, but then I saw the fucking ‘no homo’ and I wanted to crack up because of it and I realized that I’ll never be able to lie to you. Or keep you out. And it’s so easy to do that to anyone else, but not you. Never you.”</p><p> </p><p>Mattsun hadn’t stopped stroking his hand up and down his back, and his voice was rough when he said “Good.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m really tired,” Makki said. “I’m so tired.”</p><p> </p><p>“Dumbassery takes a lot of energy,” Mattsun replied.</p><p> </p><p>“Can I spend the night?” His voice was smaller than he’d like it to be, and his heartbeat was picking up speed again, but Mattsun just squeezed him tight and <em>lifted </em>him, flowers and all, and started walking him towards the bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah, god yes.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok like this is the first “chapter” fic i’ve finished in a while so dang how about that. rip to my attention span. I love comments please comment because I’m sad about my future prospects. Finally a big thank you to tiktokker n artist santa.ana.winds for putting bass player matsukawa x pierre by ryn weaver in my head. Now that this story is over I just need to let you all know (assuming you’ve all LISTENED TO PIERRE BY NOW) that originally, yes, this was just supposed to be thirsty for bass player!matsukawa fodder. However, after listening to pierre on repeat for about six days straight, I realized that the narrator (aka ryn aka makki) had to be deeply and hopelessly in love with someone who wasn’t sexy bass player matsukawa, who they were trying to run away from and ugh oh my god I can’t get the image of hanamaki crying after oikawa saying he’s going overseas out of my head. Ok rant over this is as human as I’ve been on a fanfiction site in a long time.</p><p>Ok also I’ve learned that you can now put emojis in your fanfictions and dang times have uh changed since I was 11 that’s wild anyways 🍙 stan osamu for clear skin<br/>https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMesdDtyY/<br/>here’s my drawing of makki and mattsun</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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